It is often said that geography is destiny. For India, the world’s most populous nation, geography has offered blessings and curses. With more than 15,000 km of land borders and a vast expanse of oceanic frontiers, India’s neighbourhood is not just a matter of security -- it is an existential reality.
But in recent years, that neighbourhood has increasingly turned restless, rebellious, and resistant. One by one, the smaller nations in South Asia, long accused of bending under India’s weight, are now showing signs of cancelling Delhi’s “dadagiri.”
From Bangladesh to Nepal, Sri Lanka to the Maldives, and Pakistan to Myanmar, the story is strikingly similar: Mass uprisings, volatile leadership changes, economic despair, and the rise of nationalist or anti-India sentiments.
At the centre of this turbulence is India, scrambling to maintain its dominance while projecting itself as a rising global power. The paradox is glaring -- Delhi’s ambitions of being a “Vishwaguru” (teacher of the world) are undermined by its failure to maintain stable, friendly relations with its own immediate neighbours.
Bangladesh provides perhaps the starkest example of this reversal. For over a decade, India enjoyed a near-perfect alignment with Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina, who delivered on counterterrorism cooperation, trade routes, and connectivity projects. History has a peculiar way of rewriting itself.
The student-led uprising of August 2024 swept Hasina out of power, forcing her to flee across the border she once so carefully managed. Today, sheltered in India, she has become a living reminder of Delhi’s miscalculation -- that betting all its chips on one leader, while ignoring popular grievances, is a recipe for backlash.
The new politics
The interim government in Dhaka, led by Muhammad Yunus, wasted little time in distancing itself from India. Whether by design or necessity, it has embraced a more skeptical stance, openly questioning India’s overreach. Trade rows, revoked transit rights, and rhetorical jabs have replaced the bonhomie of yesteryears.
The Chief Advisor’s assertion that Bangladesh is the “guardian of the ocean” for India’s Northeast was more than a symbolic provocation; it was a direct challenge to Delhi’s self-image as the subcontinent’s natural hegemon. India’s retaliation -- revoking transshipment rights and banning jute imports -- has only hardened perceptions that Delhi still sees Dhaka not as an equal partner, but as a subordinate.
Fed up with India’s meddling
This dynamic is not confined to Bangladesh. Nepal, long caught in a tug-of-war between India and China, has become the third South Asian state in recent years to topple its government through mass protests.
Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli’s resignation after violent demonstrations mirrors the pattern seen in Colombo and Dhaka. But the Nepal episode carries a special sting for India. Unlike Sri Lanka or Bangladesh, Nepal shares a uniquely intimate relationship with India -- an open border, deep cultural and religious ties, and a sizable diaspora embedded in Indian society. Yet even here, the fault lines are widening.
The protests in Kathmandu were not only about corruption or authoritarianism; they were also about dignity. Young Nepalese, disillusioned with decades of political dysfunction, see India not as a benevolent neighbour but as an intrusive elder brother meddling in their affairs.
From border disputes over Lipulekh to anger over India’s past blockades, the resentment is real and growing. Oli’s flirtation with Beijing was one expression of this frustration, but the deeper trend is unmistakable: Nepalis no longer wish to live under the shadow of Indian paternalism.
Meanwhile, Pakistan continues to serve as India’s eternal adversary, but even here the balance of hostility is shifting in unexpected ways.
The April 2025 terrorist attack in Kashmir and India’s subsequent cross-border strikes reignited old animosities, yet the larger story lies in Pakistan’s improved ties with Dhaka’s interim administration.
The realignment starts
That two of India’s traditional “problem states” are finding common ground should worry Delhi far more than it admits. The specter of a realignment, however tentative, signals that the regional chessboard is being rearranged without India’s permission.
Across the Indian Ocean, Sri Lanka and the Maldives provide further reminders of Delhi’s waning influence. In Colombo, the 2022 uprising that chased Gotabaya Rajapaksa into exile was a warning shot, not only for Sri Lankan elites but also for India.
While Delhi scrambled to provide fuel and financial aid, China quietly consolidated its grip through debt and infrastructure deals.
Ranil Wickremesinghe’s successor, Anura Kumara Dissanayake, represents a political current that is less beholden to Delhi’s dictates.
In the Maldives, Mohamed Muizzu’s “India Out” campaign was more than electoral sloganeering -- it was a nationalist rebuke of India’s military presence. Today, Male openly courts Beijing, while Delhi faces the humiliation of seeing its once-unquestioned influence erode on the very atoll where it once stationed its soldiers.
Myanmar, though often an afterthought in regional analysis, completes this circle of unrest. The 2021 coup unleashed waves of refugees into Mizoram and Manipur, straining India’s border states and fueling ethnic conflicts.
Delhi’s response -- fencing the border and scrapping the Free Movement Regime -- may address immediate security concerns, but it also abandons decades of cultural and familial ties across the frontier. By militarizing a historically porous border, India risks alienating communities that once saw it as a natural ally.
Put together, these developments amount to more than isolated incidents. They reveal a broader pattern of India’s diminishing neighbourhood advantage. Delhi’s pursuit of global ambitions -- hosting G20 summits, lecturing the world on democracy, and positioning itself as a counterweight to China -- has distracted it from the hard, unglamorous work of neighbourhood diplomacy.
“Neighbourhood First” was once touted as a guiding principle of Indian foreign policy. Today, it looks more like a forgotten slogan, mocked by the very neighbourhoods it was supposed to embrace.
What is striking is the emotional tone of the backlash. Across South Asia, India is not merely seen as powerful -- it is seen as domineering. The term “dadagiri” captures this sentiment perfectly: The overbearing elder brother who demands obedience but offers little respect.
Whether it is sheltering ousted leaders, meddling in constitutional crises, or weaponizing trade, Delhi’s actions often reinforce the image of arrogance. And in a region where memories of colonial subjugation run deep, such behaviour is bound to provoke resistance.
A self-fulfilling prophecy
Critics within India argue that this foreign policy arrogance is self-defeating. By antagonizing its neighbours, India pushes them closer to China, the very rival it seeks to contain. Beijing does not need to coerce these states; Delhi’s heavy hand does the work for them.
Every protest in Kathmandu, every trade spat in Dhaka, and every rally in Male becomes an opportunity for Beijing to present itself as a less judgmental partner. This dynamic is not about ideology but about pragmatism. Small states will align with whoever respects their sovereignty, not whoever lectures them on “shared civilizational ties.”
The irony is that India should know better. Its own independence struggle was fueled by resistance to foreign domination. Gandhi’s Salt March was not merely about salt; it was about dignity.
Tagore’s writings did not merely critique colonial rule; they critiqued the very idea of cultural arrogance. Yet today, India risks becoming the very kind of overbearing power it once resisted. The lesson of history, it seems, has been lost in the corridors of South Block.
Where does this leave India? Certainly not in an enviable position. Managing Pakistan, a perpetual adversary, is a challenge enough. But when friendly neighbours like Bangladesh, Nepal, or Sri Lanka also begin to question Delhi’s role, the problem is no longer bilateral -- it is structural.
India cannot be the “net security provider” it aspires to be if its own backyard is on fire. Nor can it expect the world to take its “democratic values” seriously when its neighbours accuse it of meddling and paternalism.
India must recognize that smaller states do not owe it allegiance, only respect. Trade should be a tool of cooperation, not coercion. Refuge should be offered as a humanitarian gesture, not as a political provocation.
Cultural ties should be celebrated, not weaponized. And above all, Delhi must learn to listen -- to the frustrations of Bangladeshi students, the grievances of Nepali youth, the aspirations of Maldivian voters, and the anxieties of Sri Lankan workers.
South Asia is a region bound by shared histories, religions, rivers, and roads. But it is also a region scarred by mistrust and hierarchy. If India wishes to lead, it must abandon the temptation to dominate. “Dadagiri” may work in street politics, but in international relations, it only breeds resentment.
The time has come for India to decide what kind of power it wants to be. A hegemon clinging to fading influence? Or a partner that respects its neighbours as equals?
The protests in Dhaka, Kathmandu, and Colombo are not just local uprisings; they are signals of a region demanding dignity. Whether India hears them -- or dismisses them -- will determine not only the future of South Asia, but also India’s own claim to global leadership.
HM Nazmul Alam is an academic, journalist, and political analyst. He can be reached at [email protected].
